


his hair, his hands, his voice

by GameMaster



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Costume Parties & Masquerades, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Dancing, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28671951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GameMaster/pseuds/GameMaster
Summary: Dream finds himself bored and lonely at a Masquerade ball until a certain hazel-eyed boy arrives and convinces him to finally lower the mask.---George pursed his lips and looked down at the floor, as if he was trying not to laugh. “Well, I don’t mean to worry you, but I’ve actually heard you’re quite the scoundrel.” He pushed down his laugh and settled for a smirk.Dream tried to keep his face from showing his panic. God, damn whoever sullied my first impression with this boy.“I suppose I can be on occasion,” He said, trying to play it off as humor and not alarm. George looked at him questioningly.“But not tonight?” He asked, once again looking amused. Dream barely processed that Nick had dissolved into the crowd at some point.“What do you mean?”---Basically a little self indulgent oneshot to get me warmed up for writing :]
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 292
Collections: Completed stories I've read, MCYT





	his hair, his hands, his voice

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing a Dreamnotfound fic so any critiques are completely welcome. I just love the Masquerade Ball trope and it fits perfectly because of Dream's mask.  
> I had so much fun writing and I hope you have fun reading :]

Dream was adamant that nothing could make this gala less tedious, but he was itching to be proven wrong. When his friend Nick had first mentioned it, the idea of a masquerade ball had been much more intriguing, but the masks did nothing to spice up the festivities.

As usual, it was a lot of irritating gossip about who was and who wasn’t available, and as much as he tried to stay out of those discussions, he still often heard his name in passing. As the eldest son of a Marquess, he became the target of many fathers looking to marry off their daughters to a wealthy young man. While Dream could not dispute his wealth, he also wasn’t sure that he would be the ideal husband.

He propped up his mask, for it seemed that no matter what he tried it kept slipping down. The mask was frankly his favorite part of the experience although he had hoped it would offer more anonymity than it had. It was a heavy ceramic, cut and painted into the image of a crude smile and clever eyes. He had a feeling the smile had in truth been a joke at his expense as his mother, who had had the mask made, often insisted that he should smile more.

What was there to smile about? Well, supposedly, events such as this one, where the elites bathed in luxury and traded all the knowledge that existed in the little bubble that separated them from the lower-class. Even having grown up this way, Dream found the expense appalling.

The hall itself was obnoxious enough with the ornate gold designs carved into the wall and the coral marble floor but it had also been gaudily decorated with long blue curtains, which adorned the tall windows. Across the room, Dream could spy his father lounging on one of many low couches, getting hopelessly drunk.

He rubbed his temple in frustration, wincing as the sharp ceramic of the mask bit into his cheek. Staying close to the wall, he tried to find Nick in the crowd. If anyone could brighten up the night it would be him, but Dream was sore to find his friend out on the dance floor, sharing a waltz with a blonde in a lavender gown. Guilt nipped at his bitterness. Nick looked like he was enjoying himself, and Dream shouldn’t get in the way of his friend’s happiness, even if it left him alone in the corner.

He brushed off his forest green suit and grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray. The flute was cool in his hand and the drink fizzed pleasingly as he sipped it. Swirling the glass, he briefly considered getting himself magnificently drunk just to pass the time, but the last time he had done so, he had ended up being caught in a broom closet ravishing a young viscount. He smirked as the memory came back to him. As much as he would love to end the night with some boy wrapped around him, last time his father had scorned him and not allowed him to leave his room for weeks.

Just as he downed his glass, The Master of Ceremonies announced a newcomer from the balcony at the top of the stairs.  
“The Duke and Duchess Davidson of Martinau, and their son Earl of Pastrouve.” Dream looked up and was surprised to be met with unfamiliar faces. Usually, he had already been acquainted with the guests but The Duke and Duchess spawned no memory in his mind. Even stranger was the son, who looked to be about his age and therefore he should have been familiar with, but nothing came to mind.

 _Maybe it’s merely because of the masks?_ He asked himself, moving to get a closer look at the family. They were quite a striking trio, all with deep brown hair and pale, smooth skin. The duchess had icey blue eyes, juxtaposed to her husband’s warm brown. When Dream looked to the son’s eyes his breath hitched. Even from a distance, he could see the glow of the Earl’s honey-colored pupils, exemplified by the glint of the golden decor and silverware.

Something deep inside Dream hungered to see those eyes up close. He tried to take a sip of champagne to quell his devout focus, but unfortunately, his glass had not mystically refilled itself. Huffing, he set it down on a nearby table and found himself once again searching for Nick. Maybe he would know the Earl and could introduce them?

Unshockingly, Dream eventually found Nick at one of many tables of food, stuffing his face with candied pears. Pulling him by his collar, he led his friend to a partially empty corner.

“Having fun?” Nick asked mockingly. He already knew the answer because he was very used to Dream pulling him away at parties and asking him to help the blond sneak out.

“I’m starting to,” Dream replied, turning and scanning the crowd for the honey-eyed boy. “Who was that girl you were dancing with? The one in purple?”

Nick shrugged and bit into a pear. “Some daughter of a Baronet. Her name was...Alice, Alisha, something like that.”  
Dream raised a brow. “You seemed to be having an awfully good time for not even remembering her name.” He passed Nick a drink as a waiter went by.

“I always have fun with pretty girls in low-cut dresses,” Nick said, sipping his champagne absently. Dream shoved his friend’s side, causing him to choke a bit on his sip. “What the hell was that for?” Nick asked through his coughs.

“Be respectful.”

Nick snorted. “Because you were being so respectful when you were talking about that gardener-boy. By my recollection, you said you wanted to ‘kiss him until he forgot his own name.’”

“Shut it,” Dream hissed. Nick smirked, swirling his drink. Being someone’s best friend was really just knowing how to get on their nerves.

“Well, you didn’t say ‘kiss’ per se, but I am a gentleman-”

“Have you met the Earl of Pastrouve?” Dream interrupted. Nick furrowed his brow, thinking through the countless people he had met working with his father, the owner of a bank chain.

“It rings a bell,” He replied, tugging at his mask. Unlike Dream’s, Nick’s was bright in color, with licks of red and orange making it resemble a blazing fire.

“Would you terribly mind introducing me?” Dream asked, struggling to keep his anxiousness contained.

“Depends.”

“On what?” Frankly, Dream was willing to offer up an awful lot to meet this boy but he wasn’t going to let Nick know that.

Nick looked up at Dream, the height difference between them showing plainly. “Is he going to be another one of your conquests?” The two stood in silence for a moment as Dream took the time to absorb Nick’s words. A girl with long red curls passed in front of them, eyeing the two of them coquettishly. Dream figured he must be scowling as once he made eye contact with her, as she hurried away quickly, her skirts brushing the marble tile.

“Does it matter?” Dream finally asked quietly, his voice a bit sharp. Nick looked up at the blond and tilted his head.

“From what I remember of this Earl, George I believe his name was, I don’t think he would take too kindly to the kind of dalliance you’re used to.”

Dream sighed, longing for a drink in his hand. “What if I do want something more?” The question hung in the air. It seemed an eternity before Nick answered:

“Then I’d be happy to introduce you two.” Both boys smiled at each other, Dream because he liked getting what he wanted, and Nick because he knew Dream would owe him.

Shouldering their way through the crowd, Nick led Dream to the front of the hall where the Earl, George as Nick had called him, stood earnestly at his mother’s side, answering the steadfast questions of a stalky Count. He smiled but Dream knew the smile all too well, as did Nick. It was the smile of vague amusement and feigned interest that every noble learned to put on at a young age. Among the elite, one didn’t need to wear a mask to hide their true face.

As they approached, Dream observed George, taking him in. His dark hair was tousled beautifully and he wore a navy suit with white riding gloves. Most notable was the Earl’s mask, made to resemble the clouds from a renaissance painting, large and billowy. Next to his eyes and soft pink lips, George’s face was akin to a sunset, the gold and rosy hues meshing with the whites and greys of the clouds. Dream had never enjoyed his lessons in poetry, but he could write a book of poems on just George’s face.

“George Davidson, Earl of Pastrouve?” Nick said, snapping Dream out of his stupor. George looked up at them and Dream could feel the blood rush to his freckled cheeks.

“Yes,” George replied, turning away from the Count. “That’s me. It’s Nicolas isn’t it? Our families have had business proceedings recently.” Nick gave him a warm smile, not the rehearsed one that George might expect.

“That sounds right. I thought you might want to become acquainted with a close friend of mine.” Nick stepped aside so Dream and George were standing face to face. Well, not exactly face to face as Dream was quite a bit taller than George but close enough.

George stuck out his hand for a handshake. “Dream, son of the Toumount Marquess if I’m not mistaken.” Dream’s breath hitched. George had heard of him. Dream returned the handshake, gripping George’s cool, long fingers in his own.

“Correct,” Dream replied. “I’m a bit surprised you’ve heard of me. Have I really made such a name for myself already?”

George pursed his lips and looked down at the floor, as if he was trying not to laugh. “Well, I don’t mean to worry you, but I’ve actually heard you’re quite the scoundrel.” He pushed down his laugh and settled for a smirk.

Dream tried to keep his face from showing his panic.

_God, damn whoever sullied my first impression with this boy._

  
“I suppose I can be on occasion,” He said, trying to play it off as humor and not alarm. George looked at him questioningly.

“But not tonight?” He asked, once again looking amused. Dream barely processed that Nick had dissolved into the crowd at some point.

“What do you mean?”

George sipped his drink and looked toward the corner in which Dream and Nick had previously been standing. “Well, unless you plan to have romantic relations with the wall I’m not sure you’ll be doing anything scandalous tonight.”

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” Dream bit his cheek, he hadn’t meant for that to slip out. He stood stiffly, waiting for George to shut him down. Strangely, the brunet looked both very surprised and also very pleased by Dream’s response.

“Yes,” George said thoughtfully. “Yes, you are.” The two stood in silence, both seemingly daring the other to speak next, to break the brittle silence. When no attempt was made, George bid Dream goodbye with a nod and walked away. It wasn’t downright rejection but it hurt nonetheless.

Dream waved over a waiter and downed an entire glass at once in an attempt to numb himself to George’s seeming indifference. Why did he ever bother going to these events? Apparently the night wasn’t going to improve after all.

. . .

Hazy from champagne and frustration, Dream found himself stumbling into a large greenhouse attached to the hall. Trying to get his bearings, he strolled around the building, enjoying the sudden silence. Overhead, the moon shone through the cloudy glass panes. It was a beautiful night and Dream only wished he could have spent the time to appreciate it instead of pining for and subsequently throwing a fit over some boy he had hardly talked to.

“Stupid Earl of...piss-all,” He muttered, pacing by some lovely geraniums. “Stupid George and his stupid gorgeous eyes and rosy cheeks and...and perfect lips.” He tried to shake the image of the boy out of his head but it stuck stubbornly, like an insect stuck in amber.

 _Amber. Amber...amber. Amber, like George’s eyes._ Once again, he tried to push George out of his brain.

_His hair, his hands, his voice._

Dream threw his head back in frustration, and his mask slid off in the process. The ceramic shattered against the cool concrete floor, the sound jolting him back to reality. He dropped to his knees, aware that he was probably dirtying his very expensive pine-colored suit, but he couldn’t care less about it at the moment. In fact, he actively despised the ridiculous show of wealth. Tearing off his jacket, he did his best to collect the shattered ceramic in the satin lining as his head spun.

_His hair, his hands, his voice._

A single tear ran down Dream’s cheek although whether it was from misery or anger he couldn’t tell.

_His hair, his hands, his voice._

Furiously, he tried to dry his eyes on his sleeves but the tears kept coming, fast and hot. His vision swam and he gave up trying to collect the shards from the mask.

_His hair, his hands..._

“Dream?”

Startled, Dream looked up at the figure across the greenhouse. He blinked until his vision cleared and was both delighted and upset by the fact that the figure was in fact George.

“George?” The blond croaked, standing up.

“Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” George kept his distance but the concern in his voice sounded frighteningly genuine.

_His voice._

“No, no...” Dream shook his head rapidly. “I didn’t hurt myself. My mask...” He waved at the ceramic shards. “My mask slipped off.”

“Ah,” George said, stepping closer. “Is that why you’re crying?” Dream looked at the ground hopelessly. What exactly was he meant to say?

“No, but let’s say it is,” He sniffed. “Why...why aren’t you inside dancing?” George met his eyes, pupils still like syrup even in the dim light.

“Probably for the very same reason you aren’t,” The brunet replied, still shifting closer. Dream gulped at the implications. He tried to keep his eyes on George’s but his lips were so unnecessarily distracting. His mask still covered a good portion of his face. Dream longed to take it off.

“Not one for parties?” The blond attempted a chuckle but it came out as more of a sigh. George continued to close the gap until there was only about a foot between the two.

“Not one for girls,” George replied rather sheepishly, as if Dream hadn’t already made his feelings perfectly clear. Dream kicked away his jacket containing the pieces of his mask. Now there was nothing separating them but their own willpower.

“Is that so?” Dream’s face burned as he took one of George’s hands in his own. It was so delicate, so nimble.

_He’d be an excellent piano player._

Raising George’s hand to his mouth, he placed a soft kiss on his knuckles. George’s breath hitched and his beautiful eyes conveyed his need. Flipping his hand, Dream placed another kiss on George's palm before leading both of George’s hands to rest on Dream’s arms.

“I’m glad we understand each other,” George said softly, giving Dream’s arm a small squeeze. Dream brushed a finger against George’s collarbone and watched his eyelids flutter at the touch. Slowly and gently, Dream untied George’s mask and lowered it, his full face being lit up by the moonlight. He was such a beautiful boy.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Dream asked breathlessly, bringing one hand around George’s waist, the other skimming his rosy cheeks. George smiled and pressed himself up against Dream’s torso, grazing his fingers along the delicate fabric of his vest.

“What if I said no?” The brunet asked teasingly, biting his lip and running a hand up to Dream’s shoulder.

“You’d be lying,” Dream said lowering both hands to George’s waist and pulling him in at the same time George pushed a hand into Dream’s hair. “I don’t like liars.” The distance between the boys finally closed as both of them leaned forward into a kiss.

George’s lips were just as soft and sweet as Dream hoped. Sweet like honey, sweet like syrup. Intoxicatingly delicious and Dream couldn’t get enough.

George stood on the tips of his toes to make up for the height difference and ran his hands through Dream’s hair and down his neck. Dream shivered at the feeling and moved his hands to George’s lower back, still locked at the lips.

Dream nipped at George’s lip and George let loose a short, breathless giggle. The brunet moved his hands down to cup Dream’s jaw, stroking it gently.

The world outside the two of them faded away, the sounds of chatter and music from the ballroom subsiding to nothing. The greenhouse became their stage, the moon their spotlight. Both refused to pull away, Dream grabbing at George greedily, wanting him even closer, spilling out all the emotions from the night into the kiss. The anger, the anxiety, the frustration, it all melted into warmth, passion, love.

At last George pulled away, solely because he was running out of breath. Regaining his breath shakily, he lowered his head so it was tucked into Dream’s chest. Dream still held him close as if he might never let go.

“I can’t believe you cried because of me,” George giggled into Dream’s chest.

“You don’t know that’s why I was crying,” Dream replied shortly, earning another laugh from George, his breath warm against Dream’s chest. George looked up into Dream’s forest-green eyes. He had thought that they were brown from afar, but from up close they were nearly emerald.

“Well you aren’t crying anymore, are you?” George brushed a finger under Dream’s eye, wiping away any remainder of the heartache Dream had felt.

And there they stayed, silent for a long time, swaying to the faint music from the ballroom, holding each other, sharing heartbeats. They didn’t need to talk to share how they felt, every little touch recounted their feelings. Every little kiss on lips, hands, cheeks, foreheads. Every brush of a finger on backs and necks. Every beat, every sigh, everything.

Neither wanted to make promises. Dream knew exactly what would happen if everyone found out, so he didn’t worry about it, just basked in the other’s presence.

_His hair, his hands, his voice._

That’s all he needed tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please drop a Kudos or a Comment if you do feel so inclined, even if it's negative feedback.  
> I'll have more lovely DNF and SBI oneshots coming up soon so if you like that kind of thing I would love a follow. I'll also be posting updates on Twitter (@GMwastakenn)


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